Scared of Skeevers
by DLSCB
Summary: Helga is a seasoned Nord huntress who saves a milk drinking Imperial as he runs for his life. She wonders; who is this man? Where is he from? Where is he going? Why doesn't he know how to defend himself? The answers to these and more in a tale filled with reflection and purpose.
1. Fire in a Tree

It was the type of day that didn't give you immediate cause for alarm but this being the mountains of Skyrim you had to always be ready for random foolishness to try and kill you. Sure, everything could be nice and quiet but then a troll comes out from behind a tree, a lost cliff racer takes a dive at you, some demon materializes from oblivion, and to top it all of it an idiot thief with nothing but a knife is actually going to try and rob you after they just saw you deal with the other three using your trusty war axe that weighs more than two bandits put together. Or as is called in Skyrim, Middas. You don't even want to know what happens on Fredas.

Helga was just finishing her efforts to preserve the meat she got from the deer. It was her personal mission to kill every last one of these monsters. It was a beautiful animal of course but to anyone who would argue that as a reason not to kill and eat them Helga had about twenty or thirty choice words to scream at them revolving around the fact that deer are actually very dangerous animals. Sure, they're nothing compared to a bear but after you've seen a deer trample an infant's head you loose all sympathy for them. Helga had occasion to bump into woodelf hunters who do some stupid religious crap and pray to the deer's spirit to explain that they need the meat. Idiot Bosmer were annoying on their best of days but before Helga would put up with seeing them do that she's slap them in the face with one of those dwarven gauntlets. The thin layer of corrosion on the metal was said to discolor the skin of Bosmer for some time afterwards.

The bears and the wolves and the who knows what else were all leaving Helga alone today. As she made her way around a bit of a lake that had formed at high altitude she saw some signs that there might be a wild boar in the area but upon closer inspection it looked like that animal had moved on. She had enough supply wise to stay up in the mountains for a long time and with the survival skills she'd picked up over the years she could likely stay up there indefinitely but that was not the plan. She liked to go hunting for about ten to fifteen days at a time and then sell her take and relax for the rest of the month. Of course if a deer dared get anywhere near her house she was going to shoot the damn thing down but she liked to control how often she went looking for trouble. Speaking of trouble, she wondered if that alchemist squatter would be at her house again. She had to run him off the last time.

The next day would be her last day. She would camp that night and head down the mountain in the morning. There didn't seem to be anything going on at all. It was an uncharacteristically quiet day. She could see Stendarr's beacon in the distance and the smoke from Red Mountain beyond that. She knew as long as she could see the beacon she was still in Skyrim and hadn't crossed the border into Cyrodiil.

It was about midday when Helga realized that it was actually a bit too quiet. The ambient sounds of birds, wind, leaves were somehow less. Not just less, they were missing. She brought her hand to her sword scabbard to pat it and sure enough her ears were working. Maybe she was just spooking herself. It was definitely time to head down the mountain and get some in time with other people.

Other people. She usually couldn't stand them. They were so … uniformed. "Oh no, I don't have enough salt to cook the dinner I want. Dear me, I can't find a good oven. How do you mix these ingredients together again. Someone please help me." Most other people were a bunch of whiners. Helga wanted to sit them down give them all a good talking to about just how harsh and cruel the real world was. You didn't get to experience the real world sitting safe and secure behind a city wall. You had to go out there and live it. You had to go out and find the monsters that ruined your life and pay them back … Every last one of them. Other people didn't understand. When Helga tried to explain they would patronize her with by trying to show "empathy". She didn't need their pity. That would not reverse what happened. The only thing Helga cared about was systematically putting down every deer she could find. She was following in the footsteps of the great Jiub, the man responsible for single handedly decimating the cliff racers. Decimate wasn't even the right word since that would mean killing one in ten. Jiub was said to have brought the animals to damn near extinction. Good for him. And in time they would sing songs of Helga the great deer hunter who rid Skyrim of their menace once and for all.

As she thought of how to suffer though her two or three days in the city without decapitating anyone there came a new sound and a new scent in the air. Running for dear life a man raced down the mountain from the south. He passed through without noticing Helga, screaming like a little girl the whole way. Behind him were skeevers. They had gotten the scent of this milk drinking Imperial. He wasn't fast and didn't seem to be carrying any weapons so as soon as he was out of breath the rats would feast. There was one thing and one thing only he could do to save his life and he figured it out just in time. He jumped to grab the branch of a tree and scrambled up.

For those of you who don't know, humans had two unique abilities that made them able to survive everywhere. Unlike lower animals, humans can run very long distances without overheating. That may not seem like a big deal but it means a human can beat a horse in a long distance race on a hot day. In the south, running away from your enemy will save your life, and the farther south you go, the greater the human advantage got. Run away, use a bow, then run some more and you will eventually win. But this was not the south. This was Skyrim. That advantage was here turned into a liability. Humans could not keep warm enough and their speed suffered. That is why humans also had one other wonderful adaptation. They could jump.

It wasn't much of an advantage but the ability to jump, grab, hold on, and eventually climb up a bit just saved this guy's life. As long as he didn't fall out of the tree, have a branch break on him, or fall asleep he'd survive for at least a couple more hours up there until a random flame atronoch came along. This was Skyrim after all.

Helga let a smile materialize in her face as she watched the scene with amusement. It was like a little play. What was the milk drinker going to do? How was he going to get out of this mess? Would he ever stop screaming like a lass in pigtails? He took a moment to heal himself with some magic. It figured he'd have to be a mage. See a milk drinker, flip a coin and chances are, they're a mage.

He didn't seem to be a very good mage though. He repeatedly threw his hands at the enemy a few times in attempts at more magic. A couple of little bits of light flared up but quickly died down. He tried to get some fire going to drive off the skeevers now encircling the tree but instead of throwing flame at the rats, he lit his glove on fire and the flame quickly spread not only to his other clothes but also to the tree, its leaves, and its branches. He'd die from the smoke before he actually burned to death and the skeevers would have a nice cooked meal for a change.

Seeing this turn of events, Helga was about to run over and see what she could do to save the poor guy's life. She took her first few steps in his direction when he jumped out of the tree, threw his hands up with healing magic, and sprinted as fast as he could for the pond. Helga raced after him, dispatching skeevers as she passed them. The Imperial dived into water and hit with a splash as Helga brought the edge of her axe down on another skeever. Some of the other skeevers ran in fear of her but there was one who turned to try and take her on. Big mistake. She didn't even bother to use a weapon on it. She pinned the thing under her boot and slowly crushed its neck as it tried to free itself. It was a lost cause and Helga heard the bones make a crunchy sound and the thing stopped moving.

Helga looked up from the rat to see what had become of the Imperial. He rose out of the water, which was shallow enough to stand up in, shivering and covered in mud.

"You alright?" asked Helga.

The wimp had to get water and mud out of his eyes and face before responding. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You saved my life." he said in a tone that indicated he really believed it.

"They're just skeevers."

"Sci – vors?"

"You're not afraid of a mouse are you?"

He as about to respond with another likely embarrassing question when the tree that had been his salvation suddenly exploded. The boom from the reaction hurt Helga's eardrums. If there were any animals around to hunt, they were long gone now.

"You're not very good with fire are you?"

He shook his head as he tried to climb out of the water and up onto the bank. "I never had any" he began as he reached up, grabbed some mud and tried to pull himself out of the hole. The mud gave way and he slid right back down to the water. Helga dropped a rope to him and he thankfully grabbed it and she pulled him out.

"Training." he said.

"What?"

"I never had any training. No one ever showed me how to use fire spells right."

"Well, try to be a bit more careful will you."

"Yeah, I know."

"What brings you to Skyrim, assuming you crossed the border on purpose and the rats didn't chase you over."

"College."

"Winterhold. Figures. What about your university thing you all have down there?"

"They rejected me."

"And you think you'll get accepted up north?"

"It's worth a shot. I have to learn from somewhere."

Helga got a fire going and found some suitable ground and started to set up camp. She hadn't exactly invited the Imperial to share her camp with her but he just looked so pitiful as he tried to warm up from the near freezing water that she wasn't going to turn him away. He was young. He'd be about the same age as … she didn't want to think about it.

The tent was up. Helga only traveled with one so the imperial would have to sleep outside. His clothes were ruined but Helga had picked up some Stormcloak armor from that thief a few days ago. That would keep him warm for the night as long as the fire didn't go out. Helga made up a meal for the afternoon and figured this would be an early night for her.

Handing the Imperial his portion she asked "So, why'd you want to go to the college instead of getting an honorable profession?"

He had a look on his face that showed his annoyance with the way the question was worded. "I'm good at two things. I can goad someone into attacking me and then I can heal myself after the inevitable beating."

"Nothing else?"

"I was starting to get good with a bow."

"That'll serve you well up here I can tell you."

"I gave it up. I decided to try and become a healer instead."

"I don't know how things work in Cyrodiil but up here, you won't always survive an attack long enough to heal yourself. You're going to need to learn how to defend yourself too."

"I can see that now."

"My name's Helga by the way."

"I'm Drag."

"Drag? Tell me it's short for something."

"Oh it is."

"Well?"

"Draconigenus."

Helga laughed and shook her head. "You Imperials have the stupidest names."

"That's not even half of it."

"Come on. Let's hear."

"Draconigenus Nefasvorator Cordraconis III."

"The third? How could anyone with that name ever sire the second?"

"My family used to be rich."

"Used to be?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I got stuck with a name so ancient that only vampires remember what it means."

"Well, Drag, do you have a plan for how you're going to get all the way to Winterhold?"

"Follow the road and hope I don't get killed."

"You're going to need a better plan than that."

"I used to have a horse but I was robbed on my way to the border."

"And they only left you with the clothes on your back."

"Yeah, but I don't think they'll be very happy with their haul."

"Really? How so?"

"I put an enchantment on my staff. The farther away from me it gets, the heavier it and everything around it becomes."

"They could just drop it."

"Not this staff they can't. Since the effect is an area enchantment they wouldn't even know it was the staff and even if they did, the staff refuses to be dropped. Maybe one day I'll go back to Cyrodiil and pass by and see the whole gang of bandits with their lower halves sunken into the ground and their upper halves eaten by lions which … would still be right there, unable to escape now that I think about it."

"And you mages wonder why the rest of us hate you."

"Right because it would have been better if I had just put arrows through all of them."

"What about hunters, or soldiers or just some wonderer who happens onto the bandit camp and gets trapped? You didn't think about them."

"Um," he was speechless. "That's a good point actually."

"You go playing with things you don't understand and don't even bother to think things through."

"I have a lot to learn I know. But magic is the only way."

"Why? You could join the legion."

"I was in the legion. That's where I learned to use a bow."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"I need to get better at magic."

"Right. Because you're obviously so good at it."

"I have my own reasons."

"Did the legion let you out or are you a deserter?"

"I never finished training so I was never sworn in."

"And that's why you didn't go to college in Cyrodiil. You knew they could come and get you at any moment so you decided to hide out in Winterhold."

"I really do want to learn. You wouldn't understand but magic is important to me."

"The legion has battlemages."

"I want to be a healer."

"A healer?"

"Yeah, a healer. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Then why don't you join the temple? I'm sure the legion would let you out to do that."

"I … don't believe."

"Excuse me."

"I don't believe. The temple, the gods, the daedra; I don't believe in any of it."

"I can assure you they're real."

"I know they're real. That's not what I meant. I don't believe in it. I don't trust the temple. The Aedra are nothing more than Daedra that don't want to just kill you right away."

"So you believe the gods exist but don't believe they exist. I don't understand."

"When I say I don't believe what I mean is I don't think they are worthy of my worship. I know full well they're up there. I just don't think they care about us at all."

Helga eyed the young Imperial. "You haven't joined the cult of Black Marsh have you?"

"No. I haven't joined any cult. That's the point. None of them deserve my worship. None of them. They can see what's going on down here. They know. They aren't blind but they won't do a thing. They won't lift a finger to help anyone."

"Calm down."

"Sorry. I just, … I get fed up."

"Who died?"

"What?"

"Usually people aren't this passionate unless they lose someone."

"My mom." he relented.

"What happened?"

"I went home to the family farm. It used to be an 'estate'." he said in false grandeur "but more recently was down graded to just a farm." There was obviously a lot more to the story but he stopped right there. He cleared his throat. "We traveled to a big event down in Skingrad for the crowning of the new count. On the way we met up with a group of dignitaries and we figured safety in numbers. We never saw what hit us. Assassins had us surrounded. They had hired mercenaries to soften up the guards before moving in to kill their target. They were Dark Brotherhood, no doubt. They must have gotten their man but in the process a lot of people died."

"You mother?"

"She wasn't dead. Not yet. She was injured. The healers and alchemists were working as fast as they could to get to everyone but it was taking too much time. I've always been a bit gifted in healing magic. I could heal myself with no problem. I haven't got a scare on my whole body but that's not for lack of trying to get one. Healing myself, that's easy. Healing my mom, I just didn't know how to do it. It tried. I did try. I hoped that if I could just keep her alive long enough for one of the real healers to get to her then she'd be alright but …" He tapered off.

"It wasn't enough."

"No. I was an archer. I was right there with my legion buddies taking shots and trying to hold them off but in the end we didn't need one more archer. We needed one more healer."

"What was her name?"

"My mom?"

"Yeah."

"Aurelia."

"Aurelia, mother of the man who is to become the greatest healer in the history of Tamriel."

Drag winced in embarrassment.

"I'll sing to her." said Helga. "We'll raise our voices and raise our glasses to her memory." She looked at the young man. She thought she could almost see her own son in him. "Then, in the morning I'll take you down to the road and on my life I'll see you get to Winterhold in one piece."

"Thank you."

That was the plan. That was the mission. Suddenly Helga didn't care about killing deer. All she wanted to do in life was help this young man get to his goal.

The night was very uneventful. Helga decided to share her tent with Drag and while a proper Nord man would have taken that as an invitation to a lewd joke or two and a couple of half attempts at copulation in the night, the young Imperial was nothing but the perfect gentleman he claimed to be. Helga had one of the best nights sleep she'd had in twenty years.

The morning was cold and damp. What else could it ever be? This was Skyrim. Helga was picking up the camp while Drag crawled out of the tent. Her mind was going through a checklist of all the things she needed to do before heading down to the road. She had her plan to pass by Iverstad and go north. It was a long trek all the way up to Winterhold. It would take several days and Windhelm was out of the way so she'd have to wait until Winterhold to barter. A little bit less out of the way was an inn on a lake that they could stay at if the timing was right.

Drag was shivering and rubbing his hands together when an arrow flew past him and struck Helga right in the chest. The impact of the strike knocked her off her feet and gravity brought her right back to the ground. It didn't kill her right away but she was helpless on the ground, unable to scream or yell out in pain. She felt blood guzzle up and spill out of her mouth. Her heart hammered hard to try and do its job but it was a loosing battle. She looked on as the Imperial Legion soldiers took turns beating Drag to the ground and kicking him over and over again. Helga saw but could not act as the Imperials were putting a bag over his head at the command of some young female officer with an attitude and a helmet that had a fake mohawk.

"That'll teach you to run out on me." she said to Drag. "Kiss a girl and think you don't have to mean it. Men are all the same; less than worthless."

"Captain" interrupted on of her soldiers.

She turned to face him. "Report."

"General Tullius saw our banner. His runner says they've captured Ulfrick Stormcloack but they request assistance transporting the rebels to ensure they don't escape. We need to get out of this hold and into Imperial controlled territory."

A huge smile came to the captain's face. "Pack this piece of garbage up and bring him with us. If I know the general he's not going to waste any time crossing the border. Get this prisoner in with his group."

"Yes, Captain."

She turned to address Drag. "Jure Viri. Till death do us part."

The last thing Helga saw before her spirit left this world was one of the soldiers dragging the young man away. He was going to learn to be a healer and she could sure use some healing now. If she were even a tenth as gifted as a healer as he was she might actually survive this. But as it was she died sure in the knowledge that the young Imperial who had crossed the border was going to get his head cut off. Only a miracle could save him but the gods weren't in the habit of granting those to mortals who didn't believe.


	2. Fire in the Keep

They say fear lives on the left side. It was a silly saying but it seemed to be backed up by bits of tales and stories. A man hit in the head too many times will start to fear things coming from the left. A man who is afraid to fight might hold his weapon in his left hand by mistake. Then there were the stories of the warriors that others most feared to face, who held their weapons in their left hand on purpose.

Drag thought about that as he opened his eyes and looked at the others on the cart. His left eye could see just as well as his right, which wasn't saying much since both were swollen. It was odd but as much as Drag began to think that he did not like the cold or the snow he also knew the frigid air was what finally allowed him to open his eyes. His mouth was gagged with night soil rags from the taste of it. He couldn't use magic with his hands bound and no way to speak. He had a pain in his side and there was a scratchy feeling in his chest every time he took a breath. Drag had come to Skyrim to learn to be a healer and help people and now it looked liked he would die here without ever being able to save anyone. In fact, on balance, he'd actually done damage since his presence had gotten poor Helga killed.

"You're the leader of the rebellion." said one of the others in shock as he now realized the gravity of the situation he was in. Drag looked over at the man in question. Fancy steel armor and a large frame, he was still reduced to near helplessness by being bound and gagged.

"General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting."

"Good. Let's get this over with."

"Shore, Mara, Dibella, Kynereth, Akatosh … Divines, please help me!" prayed the thief in earnest. Drag let out a chuckle to hear the names of the gods and then immediately regretted it as a very sharp pain in his side pierced him with very movement of air either in or out. Akatosh was not going to help them. Of all the divines, Akatosh was the one that Drag thought might actually not exist at all. Kynereth seemed real enough but was always more concerned about the welfare of trees than people. Shore was the god that everyone agreed was either on vacation or dead. Even Talos really might just have been a man who died and his rise to godhood a misguided way of honoring the achievements of the man.

That wasn't to say that Drag agreed with the Thalmor. He hated the traitorous high elves as much if not more than anyone else but if they were right about something then Drag was going to be intellectually honest about it. Tiber Septem died and that was the last anyone ever heard of him. Maybe he was a god but even if so, he's been pretty stingy with his power and as far as Drag could see, had never lifted a finger to help anyone.

But Akatosh. Drag was sure that Akatosh wasn't an absentee god or an apathetic god or even a dead god. Akatosh was a non existent god. Not only that, Akatosh was a "never having ever existed god". No wonder the other gods never helped. They were all angered by mortals lifting up a creature that never was as the king of the pantheon. Akatosh was the chief deity worshiped in his home as a child and Drag eventually had to reconcile the fact that Akatosh was a dragon and dragons did not really exist. It was ridiculous. A flying lizard, come on. If dragons were real then they'd be covered in feathers, right? Once you boiled down the stories of dragons as tales about naked chickens they really stopped being scary.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here." said the soldier. As he did so Drag caught the gaze of some girl looking at him. Maybe she would same him. It was a long shot but it could happen. Ok, not really. He was going to die here in this hick town he'd never heard of. Then Camena would use his body as target practice and would probably take skin from his back to make a latrine seat cover for herself. What had he ever seen in her?

The cart came to a stop and very peacefully and orderly the prisoners got out and lined up. Their names were called and they went without resistance to the area by the central tower where a very big man with a very big axe was waiting to chop off all their heads.

"I'm not a rebel. You can't do this." said the thief as he bolted down the main road towards the gate.

"Archers" shouted Camena. For just a brief moment Drag thought she was talking to him but she wasn't. The thief's body was struck and then he fell lifeless sideways into the nearly frozen dirt. "Anyone else feel like running?" Camena asked as a legionnaire took the rags out of Drag's mouth.

"Yeah, me." Drag wasn't running and wasn't in any condition to run as he already felt his body succumbing to febris. But he wanted to say something to protest his treatment even if it might mean that rag going back into his mouth.

"Who … are you?" asked some nord in the legion. Drag didn't answer. What would be the point? Instead he let his lips form the words and he said the incantation as quietly as he could. Even with his hands bound he could feel the healing magic start to take effect. His temperature was coming down and the broken bones in his side were mending back into place. Of course it would all do him little good when the axe man finally severed his head from his body but it would help him at least be comfortable until the end. It was a huge relief to not have the feeling of a rib going into your lung and finally be able to take a deep breath again even if it was of icy air.

"Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."

Camena looked at the nord and then turned back at Drag. With as much spite and venom as she could put into her words she responded. "Forget the list. He goes to the block."

"By your orders Captain." The nord didn't seem happy about it and this was his way of letting her know he was following orders but he didn't exactly agree with them.

The general didn't care for anyone else in the group, just the big nord who was the leader of the rebellion. Camena's eyes were locked on Drag as he took his place in the group of condemned men. He had a feeling that this meant he would either be first or last. If you thought about it logically, Ulfric should be first in order to prevent him any chance of escape but then again they might want to make him watch all him men die before finally killing him. But Camena didn't care about any of that. She wanted Drag dead. At that moment Drag knew he'd be first.

"Give them their last rites." barked Camena to the priestess.

"As we commend your souls …" began the holy woman.

"For the love of Talos shut up." interrupted one of the captured soldiers. He waltzed up to the block without showing any sign of fear. Drag was going to tell him let her go on. Drag would sort of like her to take a long time even if he didn't believe in the gods. By all means, if it extended the minutes he'd be allowed to live in this world beyond the reach of the gods then let the woman continue. Of course he wasn't so sure about the ability of the gods to harm him after he died but he wasn't so sure.

"Come on. I haven't got all morning." taunted the nord as Camena granted his wish put her foot to his back and pushed him down into position. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" Drag thought that no, he could not say the same. In fact he could imagine the huge faces of disappointment on his father and grandfather's faces if they were still alive. Drag was no good at being a farmer, no good at being a soldier, no good at being a healer, and he was now going to have his head cut off for the crime of standing up a girl. Sure it happened to be their wedding day and it sounds really bad to stand up a girl on your wedding day to her but in his defense he would point out that he never agreed to marry her. She was forcing him into it against his will and that combined with her present behavior made him feel he was perfectly in the right to run for the hills at the first available opportunity.

The axe came down and the there was one less living nord in the world.

"Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil."

Drag looked around. He wondered who that could be. Maybe he'd live a few minutes more after all. Maybe he'd be last.

"I said next prisoner." yelled Camena in his direction.

"To the block prisoner. Nice and easy." assisted the nord soldier.

Drag was shocked that they were talking about him. Renegade? He never was a renegade. It was slander. It was libel. He felt a blade at his back and he was pushed to the block. Pick someone else Drag wished. You have the wrong guy. No. No.

They had his head down on the block next to the other guy's severed head and a thought occurred to Drag that he was facing his left. Fear lives on the left they say. Then again, so does the heart. Well, for humans at least. Elves, Orcs, and Bretons had things built differently in their bodies. Now that Drag really thought about it, which was an odd thing to think about in your last moments of life, the human heart was actually in the center and not on the left at all. It was just the piping that made it feel like it was on the left. When people put their hand on their left breast they weren't putting it on their heart at all but just on some tubing.

The headsman raised the axe far into the air. It was heavy enough that all he really had to do was loose his grip on it and it would likely give Camena her desired result. Drag breathed in what he thought would be his last breath and then … A huge black dragon fell out of the sky and started attacking everyone.

Now dragons did not exist. Drag had been certain from the time he was at least ten that dragons and by extension Akatosh did not exist. Yet there he was on his butt looking up at a dragon bring down white hot rocks from the sky, and generally killing everyone.

"Come on. The gods won't give us another chance." called a rebel out to him. Drag got to his feet as rock flew threw the air and narrowly missed taking his head off. Drag looked around for the way to run and there on the ground was the headsman.

His mask had come off but based on his garb it was him all right. He was the man who was to be Drag's murderer, and the killer of twenty more men that day and there he was on the ground immobilized by fear. They say fear lives on the left and at that moment Drag realized the man was immobilized by something else as well; pain.

Drag dropped to his knees. He'd heard of this, when a man was so much in fear that the fear could take you and you die. The headsman had his right hand over his left breast and his face contorted in pain. The fear was taking him. He wasn't going to die from wounds but simply fear.

The way the mind works can be funny at times. When you don't know what you're doing you seem to waste a lot of time but there are times when everything seems to come together mentally. Little hints and distant memories seem to gel in the brain and then there are moments of insight. The headsman was grabbing at his left because he was dying of fear. The heart was thought to be on the left but that's not really true. … His heart has stopped.

Drag felt his own heart beat in his chest. With his hands bound he didn't have a lot of options for feeling his heartbeat but for his neck. Yes, he could feel his blood pulsing through. He reached down to the headsman and did not feel anything on his neck. The man's heart had stopped.

"Ok, healer, what do you do?" Drag asked himself. Hearts work by squeezing. He couldn't very well reach into the man's chest and squeeze his blood for him but maybe if he pushed really hard in just the right place it would help. It was a shame that most places were so reliant on magic for healing, no matter how convenient it was. In situations like this, an able bodied person like Drag could help even if he wasn't particularly magically gifted if anyone cared to study and apply this sort of physical medicine. It was all potions and magic but what about when you couldn't get that?

Drag pushed on the headsman's chest and tried to match the rhythm of his own heart. He couldn't tell if he was making a difference or not and the headsman lost consciousness. Drag was prepared to stay and try to help the man to the very end if he could. If he could just get his blood going long enough for the fear to leave him then maybe he'd be ok. How long would that be? Just a little too long to avoid the sword being swung at Drag's head.

Drag had to give up being a healer at the moment and duck to avoid Camena.

"Draconis. You die."

"I told you over and over, that's not my name." replied Drag and he awkwardly ran through the chaos of the battle, with his hands still bound. The stormcloaks went into the southern tower so he ran that way. They might not be friends but they weren't likely to kill him on sight.

Drag got into the door and looked back. Camena was headed right for him. Drag ran up the steps with the intent of getting to the top of the tower but then, oraputide, the head of a dragon burst through the wall and started breathing fire onto some poor guy who was too dumb to get out of the way. The attack left the charred remains of the guy and a huge whole in the wall.

Drag heard Camena break past the stormcloaks downstairs. She was armed after all and they were not. She was heading up the stairs for Drag and he had no choice but to jump and hope he could make it inn with the burned roof. It was almost a comical little dance they did on the battlefield. The dragon would swoop down and burn up a body just as Drag ran by and then Camena would be right behind swinging her sword at him, oblivious to the fact that there was a seemingly indestructible enemy that was killing all her troops.

"Papa, get up. Papa." yelled a little boy as Drag hid from the crazy woman looking for him behind some rocks. Drag looked over his shoulder and saw the boy's father, who was injured, dragging himself along the ground to the relative safety of the slightly less out in the open position. Drag watched, helpless as the dragon came down and set fire to the man whose death he screamed out. The boy stood there crying and Drag couldn't hold in his emotions anymore. The dragon may have saved his life but it was no friend. Verpa. Cavum Asini. Drag wished he had a bow. That dragon had to die.

When he saw his chance Drag ran. He saw the gates of the town and made a bee line for them. Out of town and away from crazy Camena and the scelerose dragon. The gates … The gates … Drag felt his lungs pulling in all the air they could in order for him to keep up his pace. The gates, he was almost there. The gates, they were almost in reach. The gates … NO. They gates were locked. Why?

Drag banged his head futilely against the wooden door. The Imperials had locked the doors to prevent anyone from escaping and now a dragon was attacking the town and everyone was going to die. All the people in this town. All the innocent people. The families. The children. And the Empire would never admit they made a mistake here. They would never admit that any one of their soldiers had ever erred. The Emperor would knowingly walk into a Dark Brotherhood trap and allow himself to be assassinated before that ever happened. They would never acknowledge just how corrupt they had become and maybe had always been.

Drag ran for the keep. It wasn't exactly his own idea. General Tullius had personally recommended it to him. As he ran he saw that belua who was chasing him on the other side of the dragon as it landed among the general to chomp away at the survivors.

In the keep Drag found himself among some ten or twelve stormcloaks.

"That thing was a dragon. No doubt." said one of them.

"I know. I saw." said another.

"Gunjar's dead."

"Then take his gear."

They all seemed to ignore Drag for the most part and he wondered why there were waiting here instead of pressing on. Then he had his answer. The two metal gates on either side were locked and the door only went back out into the unwinnable battle with the dragon.

A number of minutes passed and then Drag heard Camena's voice again. "Get this gate open. NOW!"

"Now look guys, we just want to talk." said the nord legionnaire. "We need help dealing with …"

"Death to the Empire." screamed a stormcloak and in less than a second of the gate coming down rebels and soldiers were coming to blows. Drag tried to hide under a table but Camena found him in the battle and was determined to end his life.

"End of the line for you, Vir Meus."

"Tace, blitea." he said to her as he avoided her swing and tried to put other people between himself and her.

"Vae Victus." she announced.

"Abi, Abi igitur. Fugite in Oblivion." he denounced her.

She finally got him cornered, inverted her sword stance, and brought her sword high above her head with the point of the sword aimed down at Drag. She brought it down but Drag was able to grab her wrist with his hands which were still bound. He expected her to stab him with the knife that would be in her other hand but instead she just punched at him, which still hurt. She must have lost her dagger in the battle.

"Donec mors. Or don't you remember. Donec mos nos separaverit."

"You crazy Delira. Let me go."

"Never! Nequando! If I can't have you..."

Drag did not want to die. He really did not want to die. It was a very strange thing because it seemed the gods did not want Drag to die either. In earlier days this was called being protected by prophecy. The gods that Drag was so sure would never help him decided to lend just a tiny hand to save his life.

Magic began to fill Drag's body. It began to fill him up so much that it even started bursting out of his eyes. He felt strength come into his arms and a calm confidence come over his mind.

"Ignis te perdat." he said and at that moment his words became real and fire lit from his hands, burning his binds, and setting Camena on fire. The fire spread from the wrist that was holding the sword to the sword itself and eventually covering her body.

She screamed in pain and horror as she burned. All the fighting around them stopped and everyone looked on in shock at this. Someone with a good head on their shoulders threw a cloak over her to put the fire out and when he uncovered her she was badly burned.

The rebels clearly had the upper hand in this space. The rebel who had been on the same cart as Drag put a sword out in a threatening manner.

"The key. Give me the key."

The imperial who had not been happy about his orders was there and offered it to the rebel.

"We're escaping Hadvar. You can't stop us this time."

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

The rebels passed through the gate on the opposite side and Drag ducked his head and followed with them.

"Lock that gate. We don't want them following us."

A metal gate now separated the Imperials and the Rebels and Drag was on the rebel side.

Just as Drag was going down the stairs deeper into the keep he heard Hadvar call out "We need a healer. Someone go find a healer."

"But I'm supposed to be a healer" said Drag to himself. Shame filled him as he thought on the fact that he would not be the person to heal Camena of her wounds. He instead had been the one who caused them.


End file.
